Our daughter got married on September 18 in Ireland. We had an entourage of family coming from the U.S. of fourteen people. We made a week of it, traveling to the West Coast of Ireland and seeing the sights. We were all thrilled to see our daughter and her soon to be husband and be able to have a family get-together before the wedding. Now that they’re married and I’m back home with life returning to normal, I’ve had time to digest the events of those ten days together.
I’ve noticed that I’m unusually emotional. Now that my days are my own, I am experiencing a flood of chaotic feeling, as if I’d been holding my breath for those ten days. Vivid fragments of moments shared pop into my mind’s eye unbidden: a pub in Clifden; my ninety-three year old mother-in-law, sitting on the lap of a band member singing along with them. Bicycling on the island of Inishbofin, my son-in-law takes a tumble over the handle bars, thereafter referred to as Bangers and Crash. My brother-in-law spontaneously acting as toastmaster at dinner, an evening of laughter and tears. Watching the seals in Howth. The bells of the church ringing, my daughters walking down the aisle. My husband walking our daughter down the aisle, the look on her intended’s face–priceless. My son singing at the wedding. All of this and more, buzzing in my mind.
Typical of me to hold my breath in times of high emotion. Maybe I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop crying if I start, or maybe I’m afraid of spittle arcing across the table, or even sneaky flatulence. I don’t know. I was raised in an environment where we let it fly unless it was something held dear, which we then held close and private. Its how I’m wired, but I have to admit I envy our children’s ability to let fly the ridiculous as well as the dear. I’m a proud mama.